Wishing That
by Lady Saphine
Summary: Content edited for site... Musings in the life and times of Catherine Willows. Femmeslash CathSara, implied GSR


Title: Wishing That  
Author: Jocelyn Brant  
Fandom: CSI  
Pairing: Catherine/Sara (hints of GSR… I'm shuddering too, so don't feel bad.)  
Rating: R, I guess  
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters mentioned, nor any episodic references, and the song I used as inspiration (lyrics dabbled around) is "Wishing That" by Jann Arden. W00t at Calgary musicians… that sell records… they're few and far between, but they're out there.

Want more? http://bohemian-lover. Musings in the life and times of Ms. Catherine Willows.

_And when I held you  
You would almost always hold me down  
You could see through everything I said I was falling  
And you said not to fall on you  
I've bitten every finger till they bled_

We could have done this differently. I could have been more discrete. I could have held out longer. But I knew I couldn't. I knew this was coming faster and harder than I was willing to admit. She just stared at me, as though my words were truly a foreign language to her, her head cocked slightly to one side in consideration. I tried so hard not to cry at her silence, but one rebellious tear escaped, and traipsed an embarrassing trail down my cheek.

This only served to confuse her further.

"Cath—" She reaches for me blindly, her hand never quite making it to me, looking pathetic in its lack luster attempt. I stepped back, distancing me further from her, maybe hoping to step back in time. My own hands come up, waving off her attempts, meaning to appear unfazed by her lack of a response, though the tears blurring my vision jump out in triumph, betraying my calm demeanor.

I'm not really a crier. I'll admit there have been times when I've let loose the gates of hell, and cried for all that I was worth. When I'd get a bit emotional during a particularly heartbreaking scene in a movie, though those occurances were quite rare. And I'll even go so far as to admit I've cried in anger, and frustration.

But never once did I cry in desperation. I fought and clawed my way in its name, but never shed a tear. I didn't understand why that would be a response. Desperation begs for passion and determination. Not helplessness and surrender.

"I don't expect you to return my feelings. I'm content with all this," I wave between us and around us, indicating the slightly disarrayed bedroom in my house. "Maybe not the crying," I chuckle sadly, "but everything we've become to each other."

Her eyes soften, and I'm almost certain she's going to step up and return my sentiment. But she doesn't, and my disappointment tightens the tourniquet in my heart.

"Catherine," she begins again, "I… do feel something… It just…" she shakes her head in frustration, and I can almost see the words she wants to say battling to get out of her mouth, falling over themselves. She brings her eyes back up to me, and I can see a sad resolution in her eyes, and I know it's going to hurt when she's finally able to articulate herself.

"I love you, but I'm in love with him."

_And when I kissed you  
You would almost always kiss me back  
But I could tell your mind  
was with someone else  
Oh my hands are folded  
neatly on my lap and I am  
picturing your body as I ask myself_

Her lips never cease being soft against mine; they could be bruising in their intensity, but the softness never hardened. She was all soft flesh, and gasps; driving tongue, and gentle whimpers. Her one hand grasped at my neck, kneading the flesh, and scraping her nails gently against my heated skin there. Her other hand was gripping my hip, her thumb caressing beneath my top.

My stomach goes concave when she brings her fingers in for a more deliberate touch, and I gasp out, pulling back from our kiss, her lips rushing to my neck, torturing my pulse. Her body pushes me into the comfort of the mattress, and the hand that was in my hair joins its partner at the assault on my stomach.

My eyes connect with hers for just a moment, and I know in that instant that she isn't here. Her desperation is born of the rejection she was dished today by him. She doesn't speak about him to me, perhaps out of some courtesy to not hurt me, but he doesn't have the same affliction. He shares his stories, asking for guidance from his closest friend, and I'm eviscerated every time.

I can't blame him, though. He doesn't know anything about this, and we never drop hints at work, because there it's all professionalism and pant suits. He doesn't know where she goes when she's not with him, or at the lab. He doesn't know that every time she lets her reserve falter and his confusion makes her frustrated, that I'll be his replacement. I'll be the dynamic she can control. I'm nothing more than a warm body, and yet I can't deny her. No matter how much I've tried, how much I've told myself that I deserve better from her; that her whispered words of love are for him, and not for me, and that I shouldn't put up with it.

When her fingers finally comply with my demands, after several agonizing moments of teasing, I want to pretend I feel hollow. I want to pretend that this is such a sad state that I've found myself in, but my body is a traitor of the worst kind, and my throat cries out and whimpers, and makes all the guttural moans and groans that she loves.

She kisses my lips sweetly, nuzzling my nose with hers a bit as her fingers finally slow completely. I swallow deeply, and try to remember that she loves me, but is in love with him. But when my eyes peel open, and I make contact with hers, I always forget.

She loves to kiss me with her eyes open, at this point; loves to dare me to keep eye contact. But I always lose, and when they reopen, my loss is more complete, and the bed is hauntingly cold.

_And you know me  
Oh you know me more than anyone  
When I hear your voice  
everything I've done disappears from memory  
Oh my darling come and save me  
Tell me I'm the one you're dreaming of_

"Warrick, I need the Kaminsky report on my desk by the end of shift," Grissom threw over his shoulder at the tall CSI, while we walked down the hall going in the opposite direction. "Sorry, what were you saying, Catherine?"

I sigh, sounding more agitated then I intended. "I'm calling in a favor from you." He nods his head, remembering the earlier part of our conversation. "It's a big one, but I trust you with this one." He considers me for a second, his expression suspicious.

"Lindsey is in school, while I'm at this conference, and I need you to watch her for the two days I'm gone." My words come out in a rush, barreling through the hardest part, giving him no chance to argue with me. "She'll be in school for most of the day, and you just need to pick her up from there, take her back to my place, watch her until my sister Nancy can take her at eight-thirty or nine, and then do the process again the next day."

I held my breath as he watched me, apparently giving me more time to explain. He sighs apologetically, "I can't Catherine. I wish I could help you out, but I'm in the middle of cold case quota season, and I won't be able to devote the proper time to her needs."

"I can't bring her with me, and neither my sister nor my mother can take her the whole time, and I'm really not willing to leave her in Greg's hands, even though he offered. I don't think I could handle coming back to my daughter suddenly being a goth, or a skater, or –"

"You didn't ask me," comes the calm, somber voice from behind us. My heart stutters, recognizing exactly who it is. I gulp down as much air as I can, as Grissom and I both turn towards her. She has a lopsided grin on her face, and her eyes sparkle mischievously.

Grissom gives me a "there-ya-go" smirk, "Sara has Friday night off, and you'll be back Saturday." I bite the inside of my cheek, finding it difficult to argue with him. He turns to head to his office, leaving her and me in the hallway.

I give her a grateful look, my chin quivering with the restraint of whispering that I love her, and simultaneously wanting to reach out to clasp her hand in mine. She shrugs in a lazy, "c'mon" gesture, and I sigh dramatically, as though feeling put out by the whole arrangement.

"I'll pick her up from school on Thursday, and drop her off with your sister before I go to work. And hey," she gently clasps my elbow in her hand, drawing me a little closer to her, just enough to be intimate, but not enough to be professionally indecent. No one would be the wiser. He wouldn't be the wiser. "I'll make sure she eats all her vegetables, does her homework, and says no to drugs."

I laugh outright, before taking a step out of her space. "I'm sure she'll love that," I acquiesce.

My eyes adjust to the darkness of my bedroom, and I can make out the sharp edges and grooves of furniture and the window sill. The faint glow from the window, the combination of street lamp light and the ethereal incandescence of the moon, casts a stream of illumination atop my bed, and the curves of the figure beneath my covers.

I stand still, unsure of how I should approach this situation. I barely breathe, afraid of breaking this moment, waking up to find it was all a dream, and I'm still in the air on the red eye to Vegas.

She stirs slightly, and I see her raise her head a fraction off the pillow.

"Cath?"

"Hi, baby," I murmur, moving towards the bed. I've never been able to convince her to sleep with me, just sleep, relax, and lie with me until morning. She's always gone before I wake up, and the pain never dulls, though the shock eventually wears off faster and faster each time, until it doesn't even register anymore. This is as close to that as I'm going to get. "I just checked on Linds."

Her head flops back down on the pillow. I think she's fallen back to sleep, she's so still, but then her hand pulls back the covers, silently beckoning me. Removing my clothes in record time, until I'm in just a bra and panties, I crawl in beside Sara, facing away from her, but reveling in the way her hand reaches around to gently pull me in.

"Home early," she mumbles, and I smile, my heart fluttering wildly as the words are breathed along the skin of my shoulders.

"Took the red-eye. I wanted to relieve you of your baby-sitting duties; let you get back to your life sooner."

"Mmm." She sounds as though she's already asleep and likely responding via her subconscious. I just scoot in tighter to her, absorbing her heat through our body contact.

"Love you," I whisper into the darkened room, the same way I've done every night we're together since that first confession, and I try not to be hurt by the silence. She's asleep, and she never says it back anyway.

She promises me pancakes and fruit toppings, as she kisses me awake. This isn't the "I love you too" I wanted last night, but this is the kind of commitment she can give. She's not the, "we'll be together forever, and ever" type, she's the "this is what I am, and what I can give you, and I hope it will be enough."

And it is for now, because she stayed until the morning.

_Wishing that  
You love me too  
Wishing that  
You love me too  
Wishing that  
Wishing that…_


End file.
